Candle in the Dark
by Dizzy-Dreamer
Summary: He’s more than broken, she realises, he’s exhausted. Postep for 3x01 Lost Son. HoratioCalleigh.
1. 1 of 2

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I don't own them. Not long 'til Christmas, maybe I'll get lucky this year? 

**Authors note: **Hugio thanks to Becs (remotecontrolprincess) for beta, giggles, friendship & everything. Thanks to Delga for the beta. SPOILERS for 3x01 Lost Son, post-ep fic for said episode. Don't like HoratioCalleigh? Not my problem, don't read it. Review, praise, send chocolate, cookies, love, or Rory Cochrane for Christmas. I won't say no to any of the above. Flames will be used to toast my toes, it's damn cold!

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**Candle in the Dark**

_I wanna hold you close under the rain, I wanna kiss your smile and feel the pain _

Broken. That's the only word she can use to describe him as she walks through the door to the locker room, ballistics report in hand – the key to the closure of the hellish IAB investigation. He doesn't flinch as she enters, only moving his lips to form three words – _you saved me_.

There's a change in the air, she notes, as she hands him the report, telling him she wanted him to see it before she handed it in officially. The air has been strained all day, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. In that room, standing alone with the broken figure of the man she knew to be so strong, the tension was all but dissipated leaving only sadness and regret.

'_He definitely had to look at his gun'_, she says softly as he opens the report. Her writing is strangely comforting in her trademark black ink. His eyes glance across the page as he reads aloud, confirming the events. His weapon expended six rounds; Tim Speedle's malfunctioned. There are many reasons for a weapon to malfunction, she reminds him, but the bottom line is, the weapon failed – thus closing the IAB investigation. They can grieve now, they can mourn for their colleague, their friend – their Speedle.

She turns to leave but he stops her, a barely audible whisper tugging at every heartstring. She blinks away tears and her breath catches in her throat as he whispers _'C'mere'_ and takes her into his arms, as much to comfort himself as to comfort her. He's trembling slightly as he holds her close and she tightens her hold, melting into him. She chides herself for feeling the way she does in his arms: safe, warm, ever so slightly aroused, even. A tear drops onto the top of her head, followed by another – and another, and yet another. She pushes herself up onto the tips of her toes and hugs him tighter, almost with a fierce anger.

He's more than broken, she realises, he's exhausted. She wriggles free of his embrace and lowers her hands to his wrists, leading him across the room to a set of wooden benches. She tugs gently on his arms, motioning for him to sit and he does. She sits beside him and leans into him, one arm around his waist and the other holding his hand.

As she rocks him back and forth, she idly wonders when he last ate. To just anyone, he'd look like your average workaholic, but to her, he was working himself into the ground – especially today. She realises she hasn't seen him eat more than a bagel and coffee in the last week and a half.

'_Oh, Horatio', _she whispers into the air. He's definitely lost a little weight, she concludes. He's clutching her hand tight, so tight she can't release it. Her fingers are slowly going numb but she doesn't mind – not yet, anyway. In a few minutes she'll prise herself free, she thinks, and she does. Ten minutes later, she wriggles free.

'_I'll be ten minutes – less, even.'_ She informs him quietly, before walking briskly down the corridor and out into the warm Miami evening. The sun is beginning to set over the ocean and it casts a reddish-orange glow over the city. She runs to the deli across the street and orders food: two New York-style bagels, toasted and spread with cheese and topped with smoked salmon.

She retraces her steps back and glides into the locker room with a minute and a half to spare. He's still there, staring straight ahead at the wall, rocking himself back and forth. She slows as she walks around the row of lockers, her throat aching as she holds back sobs of her own. She touches him lightly on the arm as she slides back into her seat next to him, dropping the bag of bagels at her feet.

_'When was the last time you ate, Horatio?'_ she asks gently. He turns slowly to look at her, eyes void of emotion. She knows he hasn't eaten recently. She picks up the bag and takes out a box, placing it in his hands. He stares at it for a moment, before opening it. The room is filled with the appetising smells but he barely flinches, much less eats. He closes the box after a while and places it on the bench beside him. He hears her sigh as she kicks off her boots and pulls her legs up under her, leaning into him again. 

She finds herself with her head resting in his lap as he absently plays with her hair and it's strangely comforting, despite the backache she has from the wooden bench and odd angle. He hasn't uttered a word since he looked at the ballistics report and she hasn't spoken since she handed him the still-uneaten bagel. She sits up suddenly, startling him. She takes his hand in hers and rubs it gently – it's cold, he's never cold. His eyes are still empty as they dart anxiously around the room, fighting sleep with all the energy he has left.

She stands up and tugs on his hand, indicating he should follow suit. He stands slowly – just like everything else over the past hour or two. She tells him that she's taking him home and he doesn't complain. She leads him out of the building and through the parking lot to her Hummer, where she unlocks the doors and ushers him in.

She drives across town to his beachside house, wondering idly to herself how she knows where he lives, considering she's never been to his house before. She pulls up outside and hops out, breathing in the clean, sea air. For somewhere so close to everything, it was so quiet and peaceful. She helps him out of the car and leads him to the door, taking his key from him wordlessly. He takes her hand suddenly and leads her through the house to his room.

He looks at her and she's relieved when his eyes show something more than nothing – even if they are fearful.

'_Stay with me?'_ he pleads, and she agrees – _'Always'_, she whispers in response.


	2. 2 of 2

**Still don't own them. What's with that? C'mon, Santa... I've been so good this year!**

**Yup... this is the final chapter. I seem to have forgotten the 'TBC' on chapter one but never fear... this is the second and final chapter. Thanks go once again to Delga and Becs for betaing and supporting. Praise, love and cookies are welcome, and Kennedy has offered to send Rory Cochrane in a box so Christmas day is gonna be squealy. Teehee. Thanks dude! -hug- anyhoo, on with the fic... **

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**Candle in the Dark**

_I know what's beautiful looking at you, in a world of lies you are the truth._

Hours later her eyes open, and for a moment she's startled – her walls are pale yellow, not ice blue. The previous night cannonballs into her brain like a bullet and as she shakes her head to clear the cobwebs, she realises her arm is asleep. She shifts slightly so she can see him – dead to the world, curled up beside her. Her arm is beneath his shoulders and his right arm is slung over her stomach. Somehow they're both lying beneath the thin cotton sheets.

She glances over him at the clock on the table by his bedside – two fifteen. She doesn't know quite when she fell asleep, but she guesses she's slept for at least an hour and a half. He stirs as she prises her arm from beneath him and she whispers soothingly, finally freeing it and wriggling her fingers to try and regain the feeling.

It's only now she's free and can roll over to see him that she realises he's drenched in sweat. His face is twisted like he's in pain and it's all she can do not to wake him up and protect him from whatever he's seeing in his dreams.

She chokes back a sob and drapes her arm across his chest soothingly. It's almost as if he senses her there even in the midst of sleep, because he calms instantly, blinding reaching out for her hand. Her heart swells with love and breaks in two at the same time as she watches him toss and turn restlessly.

She toys with the idea of waking him up. He can't be benefiting from the turbulent sleep, she thinks to herself. She wonders what he's seeing behind the closed lids of his eyes. She's pretty sure she knows, but more than anything, she wants to experience it – for him, or with him, she doesn't mind – she just wants to be able to hold him and soothe him, if for no other reason than to stop her own heart breaking for him.

She settles for draping one arm across his chest and the other running softly through his sweat-drenched hair. She lies propped up on one elbow, facing him, until the sun begins to rise and slumber finally claims her as its own.

x.x.x

He wakes up to find himself curled up in the foetal position, something warm and solid against his back. He almost panics until he sees a glimmer of light, a few strands of her golden blonde hair tossed over his shoulder as she moved in her sleep. He realises he's holding her hand, and her other hand is tangled in his hair. He almost wonders why she's asleep beside him, in his bed – how he managed to get her there – but he doesn't. He doesn't want to jinx it.

He slips away quietly, carefully lifting her arms away and replacing them gently so as not to disturb her. She looks peaceful but exhausted, as if she hasn't slept – he has no idea that she's been awake all night, sick with worry. He grabs a set of clean clothes from his closet and finds a towel in the cupboard, before heading through to his bathroom.

He showers quickly, but stands under the water for several minutes, the scalding spray beating down on his broad shoulders. He hopes the cliché is true, that it'll wash away the worries and burdens, but even when the water turns cold and he steps out, his shoulders are still heavy and he's still plagued by yesterday's dramatic turn of events. He sways as he wraps a towel around his waist and it occurs to him that he's barely eaten more than a bagel in the last week.

He dries off and dresses, discarding the towel in the wicker basket in the corner along with his nightwear. He throws open the window and breathes in the fresh air, pausing for a second to hear the morning birdsong. He's scared to go back into his bedroom in case she was just an illusion, but he does anyway. She's still there, propped up on her elbow, watching the door patiently.

'Hey' she murmurs, smiling. 'How're you feeling today?'

'Better.' He answers. He realises his voice is hoarse as he makes his way to sit on the bed beside her.

She takes his hand in hers and realises it's still trembling. She clasps it tightly between both of her own, blinking back tears. She shuffles closer without letting go of his hands, until she's close enough to pull him close into a hug. It's much closer than yesterday's hug in the locker room. It's closer than any hug they've ever shared before. He's wearing a pale blue shirt and suit trousers and she's wearing the sweatpants and old tank top she keeps in her car for emergencies. The top button of his shirt is unfastened and he doesn't look like the Horatio she knows – or knew. He looks very much like the broken man she met for the first time yesterday.

She glances at the clock – it reads seven twenty. Normally she'd have been up for a little over an hour already, but she plans on calling in sick today – for the two of them. He notices her looking at the clock as she releases him from her embrace.

'I should leave soon,' he tells her. 'Criminals won't catch themselves.'

'Eric's in. Someone from Grave can cover. You're not working today.'

'Calleigh…'

'You're not working today, Horatio. Neither am I. I'm staying here with you. You're exhausted, Horatio. You've probably not eaten in at least a week, and I'm willing to bet it's been longer since you last slept.'

He never could give in when she was set in her ways – he still can't. He sighs and relents, smiling as her slight scowl gave way to the bright grin that he could only describe as _Calleigh_. The sort of grin that makes you smile even on a terrible day.

'I'm gonna go home… shower… get some fresh clothes. Then I'll be back, okay?' 

He nods, throwing himself back onto the bed. It's only now she's mentioned it that he realises he's more than exhausted. Within minutes his breathing evens out and she slips away quietly, using her cell to tell Eric that neither of them will be in – for the next two days, at least.

She pauses in the doorway to watch him for a minute – broken, but together. Peaceful, calm, but she knows there's a storm raging inside – and as long as he lives, there'll always be a storm there, because that's who he is.


End file.
